


Shall We Dance?

by TheOracle



Series: Stormy Skies [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bull Loves Throwing People, Cole is adorable, Dances All Round, Dancing, Everyone is too cute, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Humor, Varric is the Right Height for Boobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOracle/pseuds/TheOracle
Summary: The Grand Ball at Halamshiral is on the horizon, and the Inquisitor has dances to learn. So do her friends and advisors. Much fun ensues.----------This is just a little piece of fluff and sweetness I wrote, as my other work has been a bit angsty of late. x
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age)
Series: Stormy Skies [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/868359
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Shall We Dance?

The fear in the room was palpable, almost a presence in itself. The doors slammed shut around them, the heavy creak of lock bars sliding into place. There was no escape now. Sera had managed to run before they were trapped, darting out into the night. Maybe she would find others. Come back to rescue them. Fire flickered in the metal sconces on the wall.

“Maybe if we begged, they’d let us go?” Bull whispered to Gayle, his voice low to avoid drawing attention. There was sweat on his brow and his one good eye stared at her - beseeching.

“You think I haven’t tried that already? I’ve pleaded till I was hoarse, Bull. It didn’t make a difference,” Gayle replied, voice barely more than a hiss.

“What about coin then?” Varric asked. “I’ll pay them every Royal I have if they’ll let us out of here in one piece.”

“Money doesn’t matter to them,” Cullen sighed. The light had gone out in his eyes; Gayle knew he had given up and resigned himself to his fate. “They’re fanatics. There’s no reasoning with these people.”

“Quiet!” a sharp, clear voice rang out in the room. “The time for discussion is over. Inquisitor, you will be first.”

“No,” Blackwall gasped. “Let me go instead. I am not afraid.”

“Do not be mistaken, Warden Backwall. Your turn will come soon enough,” the voice replied. Laughter curled around the Orlesian accent.

Gayle reached out and squeezed Blackwall’s shoulder once, looking around at the faces of the people huddled beside her. She would do this, if it meant delaying their fate. Even if it was only for a few moments. She would not show fear. Gayle would be brave…for them. She stepped out into the wide, empty space in the centre of the room. A noise - the thrum of doom - the plucked strings of her nerves given voice, the…

“Frankly, I think you are all being ridiculous,” Dorian yawned, picking a piece of lint from his robes.

“It is only dancing, after all,” Solas agreed. Gayle sent him a scathing look.

“Focus Inquisitor!” Leliana snapped, and Gayle turned back to see the spymaster glaring at her. “Now, the dance to the Nevarran Reel, as you will recall, is: right two three, left two three, point your right toe then hop back, left toe then hop back, jump switch, jump switch, then cross to the other side.”

“Now,” Leliana continued, giving Gayle a speculative glance. “We will try it together. Maryden, if you could play the ‘Bonemaster’s Dance’.”

Maryden was the only person, other than Gayle’s advisors, still left with them in the main hall. All the other guards had scattered when the doors were bolted, having moved the tables and chairs up against the walls before they left. Maryden stopped tuning her lute and gave Leliana a brief nod, before she took up the song.

As Gayle had feared, the Nevarran Reel was as ridiculous a dance as the steps had suggested. Gayle felt like a new born foal; legs going every which way, feet thumping clumsily on the ground. Leliana practically glided. Like she woke up every morning and did the Nevarran Reel to the privy. Maybe she did, Gayle thought. Maybe that’s how everyone goes to take a shit in Orlais.

“My dearest Inquisitor, you look like you’ve stubbed your toe!” Vivienne admonished her from where she was stood next to Josephine on the dais in front of Gayle’s throne. They were looking at swatches of velvet and silk, plotting out what would likely be the monstrosity of her ballgown, in-between scrutinising her poor dance moves.

“Your back should be rigid, yet relaxed, darling. Your footwork utterly precise while having the air of spontaneity,” Vivienne added, before tutting over the pearl buttons Josephine showed her.

“But those all contradict each other!” Gayle sputtered, looking over at her other advisors who were crowded together not far from Varric’s usual fireplace. Most of them looked sympathetic to her plight. Solas was smirking at her like this was possibly the funniest thing he’d ever witnessed - in or out of the Fade.

“Couldn’t you at least have given us some wine for this?” Varric asked the room. “Or beer? I’d even settle for some rubbing alcohol, or those weird bottles Stormy keeps down in the cellar.”

“While not all of you will be expected to dance at the Winter Palace, you must all learn the steps regardless. You could be called to a dance at any moment by Celene or someone high in the courts favour. Your skill may be the difference between an alliance or the ruin of Orlais,” Leliana replied, her tone surprisingly unconcerned considering she’d just implied that their dance moves could end the world.

“Forget alcohol,” Cullen said morosely, “if anyone could stick a dagger in my gut, I’d be grateful.”

Leliana abruptly stopped dancing. Gayle fumbled over the weird jumping foot thing that the Reel seemed to be centred around. How could anyone do that and not look stupid, she wondered?

“Actually Commander, you will have to dance with the Inquisitor at least once. We should have you both practice now.”

Cullen took so many steps back - his hands up and waving his surrender - that if it weren’t for a quick save from Bull, he’d have fallen into the fire. Maybe that had been his plan all along. Gayle thought that not even self-emollition would get them out of this. Leliana would still make them dance, while the skin sloughed off their bodies.

“I think a Ferelden La Volta would be appropriate,” Leliana said, a wicked smile pulling at her mouth. Cullen looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him up. Gayle was trying to remember what a La Volta even looked like. She was pretty sure it required her getting lifted up into the air a lot.

Leliana had to physically drag Cullen over to where Gayle was standing. The colour was high on his cheeks and it made him look like a teenager, she thought, especially when he shuffled his feet and refused to look her in the eye.

“I think ‘Calenhad, the Silver King’ for this one Maryden,” Leliana requested, and Gayle watched as Cullen’s larynx dipped as he swallowed.

“And bow…” Leliana instructed as the music began, “that’s it. No! Lighter on your feet Cullen. You are prancing, not stomping. Yes…yes and lift! Oh no, what are you doing?!”

Cullen practically dropped Gayle half swing. She stumbled a little but kept her feet. There was a snicker, the unmistakable sound of Solas’s laugh, from the corner of the room.

“You must take her by the waist firmly and thrust her aloft. This dance is meant to show both your inherent strength and your gentlemanly decorum. You are strong enough that you could take her at will, but you are genteel, and so you would never presume to do so.”

“Maker’s breath Leliana,” Cullen exclaimed, his face flaring red at the suggestion.

“Oh, it’s metaphorical!” she replied, though there was a distinctive glint in her eye. “Try again!” she declared and Maryden picked up the tune.

They danced. Cullen grabbed her firmly by the waist, sweeping Gayle up into the air before landing her gently on her feet. His hand was scalding hot when he pressed it to hers. Cullen blushed through the whole thing, his warm brown eyes not meeting her own. If it weren’t for the fact that he was so uncomfortable with it, Gayle would have strangely enjoyed the dance. She’d never felt so light as when he lifted her into the air. She could have been a feather for all the effort it took him.

The dance ended. They bowed to each other. “Kiss her hand!” Leliana admonished and Cullen almost turned purple. He pressed the barest breath of a kiss to her wrist and then dashed off to be swallowed into the crowd of the other advisors. Gayle was left alone in the centre of the room. A strange gleam was in Solas’s eye when he looked at her.

“Well, that was terrible,” Dorian proclaimed. “Why don’t I show you how it should be done?”

“There will be no Tevinter dances at the Orlesian court,” Vivienne corrected. “It will be far too civilised for such scandalous displays.”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed, “and that is why it will be such a trite and boring affair. Let me show you how a dance should be done!” Dorian addressed the words to her, but Gayle could tell they were meant for the Iron Bull. He stood a little more to attention, as Dorian plucked Gayle’s hand and pressed a light kiss to it. Dorian nearly glowed with coitish charm.

“If you know ‘Maleficar’s Betrayal’?” Dorian directed to Maryham and, not even waiting for her to acknowledge, he pulled Gayle flush against him. She looked up into Dorian’s smirking face.

“What are you doing?” Gayle asked, thrown by the proximity. She was close to the Tevinter Mage, had even helped him regarding his father, but this was a little _too_ close - even for them. Gayle could feel the bristles of his moustache scrape against her face.

“Well, if we have to be subjected to all this, at the very least we can do it with style,” Dorian said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “As adorable as it is watching our strapping Commander stumble over you like a virgin, why don’t we give them something better to gawk at?”

Dorian stepped forward abruptly. The strange chords Maryden played seemed stilted to Gayle’s ears, but the Mage led her skilfully in a full-bodied dance. Dorian’s hips swayed as he maneuvered her round the floor.

“This is what your southern courts are missing out on. All these frivolous displays and quaint backwater charm. In Tevinter, we dance like we do everything else. Danger! Passion! That’s the steps the Imperium dance to.”

“I’d be careful Boss,” Iron Bull interrupted. His timbre was low and banked with heat. “I think the Vint would use blood magic to get the perfect dip.” At this statement, Dorian pulled Gayle’s thigh over his hip and pivoted her, so that the full expanse of her throat and collarbone was exposed to his gaze. If she wasn’t flushed before, she was now. Dorian pulled Gayle back before her blush could spread across her cheeks.

“Who needs blood magic?” Dorian purred, before he set Gayle back on her own two feet. Vivienne was scowling at her, like Gayle had just picked something strange up off the ground and had licked it. Bull looked like he was going to step forward but a watery voice interrupted right beside Gayle’s ear.

“How does it work?” Cole asked, materializing in a swirl of smoke at Gayle’s back. To her credit, she didn’t jump at his appearance. It was amazing what a year of sudden, ghostly interruptions, could make you numb to.

“How does what work?” Gayle asked, as Dorian pulled back from her, pressing a bristled kiss to the back of her hand. He was practically radiant with smugness. If there was anything Dorian loved, it was causing a scene.

“How do you know where your feet should be? You didn’t know the song, but then you did; and your feet went where the music asked them.”

“Well,” Gayle replied, trying to think of an explanation for being led by a partner. “Sometimes you have to just let go. Follow the person you’re dancing with. Trust that they’re leading you in the right direction. That they’ll never steer you down the wrong path.”

She knew it sounded more philosophically deeper than actual dancing was, but Gayle couldn’t think of another way to describe it.

“I trust you,” Cole declared, his eyes big and blue and guileless. How could Gayle not smile at that? Every time Cole spoke, he managed to make her love him a little more.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Gayle said, gently taking Cole’s bony hand in her own. He didn’t flinch for once, and Gayle managed to step close enough to him that she could put his other hand on her shoulder. Cole fidgeted a bit but didn’t move away. His eyes were fixed on her own.

“Could you play something simple, Maryden?” Gayle asked aloud, “Like an Orlesian Waltz?”

Maryden set up the basic tune. She plucked the strings as Dorian took his leave. Bull watched him saunter back like a wolf stalking its prey. Gayle didn’t want to think about what those two would be doing later.

“Bull is going to tie him down and lick him all over his body, like a cat,” Cole said, as if she’d just asked him a perfectly reasonable question. A choked gasp echo from the other side of the room.

“See, that was one of those things you shouldn’t say aloud,” Gayle pointed out. “Remember when we talked about that?”

“Oh…yes,” Cole agreed, his face chagrined. “I’m sorry, it’s just that sometimes their thoughts are so loud.”

“I’m not blaming you, Cole,” Gayle laughed, “Their actions are pretty loud as well,” she said, making sure her voice carried around the room. Neither of the persons discussed looked particularly bashful at the statement.

“Alright, I’m going to lead now. That means when I step forward with my right foot, you step back with your left. Watch,” Gayle said, and took a step forward. Cole stumbled a little, his own foot going back, his hat smacking the top of her head when he looked down at their feet.

“Okay, that was close. But you shouldn’t look down at your feet. You need to look at me,” she laughed, tipping his chin up.

“Think of your movements as though they were a shadow of the Inquisitors, Cole,” Solas instructed from across the room. “When she advances, you retreat. When she recedes, your footsteps take the place of hers.”

“I’ll try,” Cole said, unsure. Gayle squeezed his hand. She took two small steps forward and then another two back. Cole followed her, his eyes fixed on hers, faced scrunched a little in concentration. As she hadn’t been stepped on yet, Gayle decided to push her luck and led them on a turn around the room. Cole followed her; his footsteps shadowed her own exactly.

“You’re doing so well, Cole!” Gayle beamed, adding in a little pivot turn which Cole took in his stride.

“Body moulded to mine. Legs lighter than air. Laughter in her eyes and on her lips. I’d follow her bright footsteps into the darkness, let her lead me through the shadows. A green light in her hand, but not a match for the glow of her heart. Would it burn brighter for me, if she knew?” Cole’s voice murmured, his eyes had that far away look he sometimes got when he caught a stray thought from someone.

Gayle blushed, her eyes catching Solas’s from where he was leaning near to the door to the rotunda. He was smiling warmly at them. He always encouraged their interactions. Compassion should be around the compassionate, he would say. You are both kindred spirits in that regard.

“No,” Cole said, breaking her train of thought, “it wasn’t Solas.”

Gayle fumbled the next step and their dance abruptly stopped. “What?” she asked, once she found her balance. Cole’s hand was still clutched in her own.

“He wouldn’t want me to say,” Cole replied, eyes darting nervously.

“Who wouldn’t want you to…Cole?” Suddenly Gayle’s hands were grasping the air. Cole was gone in a curl of shadow and Gayle was left addressing the empty space before her. Maryden abruptly stopped the song.

“What did you say to spook the kid?” Varric asked. Gayle looked over to the group. Some of them were sitting, making themselves comfortable now that they obviously weren’t getting out of the situation any time soon. There was a keg on Varric’s table and Gayle wondered how they’d managed to sneak in ale.

“I didn’t say anything,” Gayle confessed, eyes skimming over the other men in the room. Everyone just looked as they always did. She couldn’t imagine any of them thought something like that. Not about _her_ anyway. Gayle could barely believe Solas felt anything close to it and they had kissed. And done other things…

“You should practice the ‘Dance of the Bard’s Blades’,” Josephine said, filling the silence. “It’s one of the Queen’s favourites, and will certainly be played at least once.”

“Excellent idea,” Vivienne echoed. “Varric, you should join the Inquisitor for this one.”

“Oh no,” Varric warned. “No way am I going to be dancing at this thing. You may not have noticed Iron Lady, but I don’t have the necessary uh…gravitas, let’s call it, to pull off dancing.”

“Nonsense dear!” Vivienne scoffed, “You will do just fine as you are. Anyway, there is no possible way you will escape this event without dancing at least once. The whole court are quite taken with your books. You will have many admirers. It may be best that you dance with the Inquisitor first, so you may excuse yourself from further requests.”

Varric’s face was the picture of horror.

“I’m not _that_ bad of a dancer,” Gayle laughed. Varric grabbed up a tankard and downed it all in one gulp.

“Really, you all need to trust me on this. There’s no way you can dance with me that will leave either of us looking dignified, in any sense of the word.”

“Oh, come on,” Gayle said, walking over to tug the Dwarf to his feet. Varric stood reluctantly with a deep groan of resignation.

“All right,” he sighed, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The tune was an odd mix of fast and slow parts. There was lots of circling round each other, low dips and then fast twists. “And pivot, two, three, and cross over, two, three,” Leliana called out the steps in time to the rhythm. Gayle and Varric came together, Gayle’s eyes focused on the wall as she concentrated on getting that complicated little box step move right. Did the right foot go over the left or the other way around?

Leliana stopped narrating the dance. Gayle heard someone choke and splutter on a drink, then the unmistakable wheeze of Blackwall coughing out his lungs. He was probably half drunk already, Gayle mused.

“Damn!” Bull exclaimed, his laugh a deep rumble through the room. “Never thought I’d be jealous of Varric’s height before.”

Gayle shot Bull a puzzled look as she wheeled around, stepping away until her and Varric were lined opposite each other again, ready to repeat the dance steps. Everyone seemed suddenly either terribly amused or utterly shocked. Solas had an odd sort of frown. She must have missed one of the steps. Maybe it _was_ the left foot over the right, Gayle thought. She knew she’d mucked up somewhere.

They twisted and pivoted; Gayle determined not to get it wrong again. She wondered if Varric was annoyed at her. It was hard to see him, when she was meant to keep her chin raised. Gayle sneaked a glance at him when they stepped towards each other again and was suddenly aware why everyone had reacted the way they did.

Varric’s face, now so red it was closer to puce in colour, was directly at eye level to Gayle’s - not inconsiderable - breasts. That little box step move, which when dancing with a partner at your own height, gave the appearance of either squaring up to fight or to kiss, instead pretty much thrust Varric’s face into her cleavage, adding a sway from side to side for good measure. Varric’s pupils were blown wide, eyebrows up at his hairline. There wasn’t any direction he could turn his head that wouldn’t have him surrounded. Gayle could see him silently mouth the name of Andraste, his eyes darting wildly.

“Yes, I think that’s quite enough!” Vivienne cut in and the song ended. Varric stumbled back, gasping, like he’d just ran from the Hinterlands to get here.

“Now that’s what dancing should be!” Bull cackled, and Blackwall buried his face in his mug of ale.

“I did warn you,” Varric croaked. “Didn’t I say? But does anyone listen to the Dwarf? Oh no, it’s all ‘you should dance with the Inquisitor Varric, it won’t be embarrassing Varric’. Next time, would someone please just _believe_ me?”

“And I thought I was doing so well,” Gayle sighed, with a pang of disappointment. “I had the steps down and everything.”

“You did great Stormy”, Varric consoled, “and don’t think that I’m making any complaints about the view either. I really have an appreciation now for why people like dancing so much.” His eyes gleamed in amusement; the colour still high on his cheeks. Varric gave her a slow wink, then made a beeline to the keg, drawing himself a pint and downing it in one go, before pulling another.

“Perhaps it would be best to pick partners that are closer to your own stature,” Leliana conceded.

“Hey! Don’t tell me I have to sit through all this crap and won’t even get a dance out of it!” Bull protested, standing up. He had been leaning into the ale pretty hard.

“Do Qunari even dance?” Dorian scoffed, “I had imagined you all beating your chests and fighting each other - when you weren’t chaining up Mages, that is.”

“Well yeah, but after the Mages are all chained up, we dance about it.”

“I’m not sure how dancing would even work with you,” Gayle admitted. He towered over her and she wasn’t exactly on the tall side herself. She would barely be able to touch his shoulder, even up on her tippy toes.

“Aw, it’s easy,” he grinned, his smile far too mischievous. “Play something fast and jumpy,” he shouted.

Gayle braced herself as Bull walked towards her, head tipping back further and further on her neck as she kept her eyes on his face, till he was right in front of her, blocking out the light. Bull picked up Gayle’s hand and it hung loosely in his grip, up above her shoulder. Maryden was plucking the strings of her lute into a jaunty tune.

“This is ridiculous,” Gayle pointed out with a laugh and wiggled their joined hands for emphasis, nearly smacking herself in the head as she did. Bull just smirked.

“I agree,” he said. “Don’t want to be getting a crick in the neck. Just let me…”

Then whoosh! Gayle’s stomach flipped and a ridiculous sound - something between a squeal and a squawk - escaped her mouth as she was crushed against Bull’s chest, her two eyes level with his one, the huge swell of his arm wrapped around her waist as her feet dangled in mid-air.

“That’s better,” he laughed.

“Bull, put me down!” Gayle gasped, her breath left somewhere behind her.

“What? We haven’t even danced yet!” And then the world blurred again, her body feeling weightless, her limbs flying and all she could do was clutch the leather strap across Bull’s body as he swung her round at a dizzying pace.

“This isn’t dancing!” Gayle shrieked, when she could suck in enough air to speak.

“I know! It’s much more fun, right?!” his voice boomed with laughter and shouted, “Hey Cullen, this is how you throw a girl in the air!” Then Gayle really _was_ flying, that strange second of utter suspension, nothing touching her body as she floated before everything crashed back down, her stomach dropping from her throat to her feet and her teeth rattling as Bull caught her and crushed her to him again. He managed to do it two more times, Gayle screaming and laughing and begging him half-heartedly to stop as he tossed her around more easily than he would a toddler.

“Oh for Maker’s sake Bull, put the Inquisitor down!” Vivienne barked, all exasperation at their antics.

“Yes mam, sorry mam,” Bull said, sounding amusingly chastised. He stopped spinning her around and gently set her back on her feet. Gayle’s head was still turning loops and her legs felt weirdly unhinged.

“That did look rather fun,” Leliana admitted.

“I’ll be happy to toss you around later, Red, “Bull growled, all heated promise. Leliana just laughed. Gayle stepped back from him, her hands shooting out to balance herself and Bull quickly caught her by the wrists when her fingertips met fabric.

“It’s not that kind of a party just yet, Boss,” he chuckled and Gayle couldn’t quite get his meaning, until she noticed he held her hands just out of reach of his pants. She blushed. Height differences really did come with all sorts of issues, Gayle thought.

“Perhaps it would be best if you danced with Blackwall next,” Leliana mused.

“What I need to do is sit down and take a break,” Gayle huffed. “I have literally just been tossed around a dancefloor.”

“We still have a number of dances to practice, Inquisitor,” Josephine pointed out.

“Yes, and we would be far further along if you would actually focus and stop behaving like children,” Vivienne added.

“Ugh, fine,” Gayle relented. “What’s the next dance then?”

“I think a Cotillion. Perhaps ‘The Bells of Val Royeaux’? That will also be played often,” Leliana said, then directed to Blackwall, “do you know it, Warden Blackwall?”

Blackwall scrubbed his beard, looking at Gayle as he considered the question. “Well, if I don’t, I’m sure I can improvise well enough,” he smiled and rubbed his hands on his trousers before heaving himself up. There was a strong smell of ale on him when he finally stood in front of her. Gayle guessed that’s why he had conceded so easily.

“I promise I won’t be so…Bullish,” Blackwall grinned and the groan that echoed around the room from the terrible pun had Gayle sniggering.

The tune was lilting. Gayle couldn’t help her surprise at how light on his feet Blackwall was, even for all the ale. He followed the steps of the dance perfectly, his rough hand a feather touch against her own. She spun easily under his arm, weaving together, not a tangled arm or stumbling foot through the complicated moves.

“You’re shockingly good at this!” Gayle admitted as they circled each other, palm to palm. Blackwall flushed, a pleased smile hidden in the scruff of his beard.

“Well, there’s more to being a Grey Warden than just killing darkspawn,” he said, arm on Gayle’s waist as he spun her around. “And anyway, dancing isn’t so different from learning fighting moves. Except for ‘parry’ and ‘rispote’, it’s all spinning and dipping instead.”

“Well that would explain why I’m terrible at both,” Gayle laughed.

“No, you’re a natural,” he replied warmly, “as anyone whose had the pleasure of watching you on a dancefloor or battlefield, would attest to, my lady.”

The song ended. Blackwall bowed low, kissing the back of Gayle’s hand with a little too much enthusiasm. Gayle cleared her throat.

“You can have a brief rest now, Inquisitor,” Leliana said, walking back to where Vivienne and Josephine were. “Then we’ll start on some of the group dances. Perhaps a few more Reels also.”

“Wait,” Gayle said, as Blackwall took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, like he was going to escort her away, “doesn’t Solas need to practice a dance?”

Leliana glanced from her to the Elvhen Mage, still leaning near the door. “Solas has insisted that he be presented as your man servant. As such, it would be scandalous for him to dance at all, let alone with you. Unless he has changed his mind on the matter?”

“I have not,” Solas confirmed and Gayle felt her shoulders droop with disappointment. Ridiculous as it was, she had looked forward to dancing with Solas. It was one of the few happy memories she had hoped to glean from the Winter Palace.

“Oh,” Gayle sighed and let Blackwall walk her back to the table, seating her in his chair. Varric handed her a tankard and she accepted it without a word. Dorian threw his arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, patting her leg consolingly, “I’ll dance with you as often as you want. Which, might I add, is a very rare privilege. I usually avoid dancing with women. All the swooning; it’s impossible to keep them on their feet most of the time. You just have to promise not to fall too devastatingly in love with me.”

“It’s a struggle I wrestle with every day,” Gayle said, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll manage to battle my way through all the same.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dorian hummed.

Not even half-way through her drink and she was ordered back on her feet again by Leliana. The Spymaster took her through a handful more dances, then pulled up a few of the others for the Reels. The ale was nearly finished by this point and most of the group were deep in their cups now. Even Cullen had downed a few mugs, though he still groaned and protested when dragged up to dance. Bull, Dorian and Blackwall were steadily becoming more rambunctious. Toes were stepped on. Laughing drowned out the music.

“Oh, this is just pointless now!” Vivienne scoffed, watching as their footwork became sloppy, their legs tangling aimlessly. “I’m leaving before this descends into even more of a farce. Inquisitor dear, we shall be going over these dances again, in my chambers, when you are decidedly more sober.”

“Oh joy,” Gayle deadpanned, when the Enchanter had disappeared behind the door to the stairs.

Leliana and Josephine seemed to accept that it was a wasted effort to continue further. Instead, they joined them at Varric’s table, wine suddenly appearing and Maryden taking a much-deserved seat and glass of red next to Bull. As the wine flowed, Josephine flustered Blackwall into a dance. Then Dorian was up and spinning Leliana across the floor, the two of them putting everyone else to shame. Even Cassandra, who had spent the night muttering in the corner and avoiding any suggestion of dancing, was coaxed up by Bull, though she spent most of the dance smacking him hard enough to bruise when he tried to pick her up. Gayle had lost her taste for dancing. She sat with her drink and watched the others with a small smile.

The chair beside her creaked as it was drawn out from the table. A familiar form dropped into the seat, knees brushing close to her own.

“You are quiet,” Solas stated, his eyes following the couples as they spun around the room.

“Hmmm,” Gayle hummed in agreement.

“I am sorry that we will be unable to dance at the Winter Palace,” Solas said, filling out the silence.

Gayle knew she was being petty; knew she shouldn’t be angry at Solas. It just rubbed her up the wrong way. It was another barrier between them, another thing they were denied. It felt like every aspect of their relationship had to be hidden and it gave Gayle the uneasy feeling that their relationship wasn’t real and solid. That it was all just whispers and glances that could be easily brushed off or denied. And worse, maybe that was what Solas wanted.

“I’m just sorry that you feel you need to go as a servant,” Gayle eventually said, as Bull doubled over from a firm smack of Cassandra’s hand to his middle. Varric whooped out a laugh from nearby.

“Even if I were to present myself with every fantastical title your Ambassador could bestow upon me, I would still not be accepted by the court or the nobles. Any hint of a relationship with you, the Herald of Andraste, would just be met with derision and would lower you in their eyes,” Solas said, the tiniest hint of scorn in his voice.

“I know. I just hate it,” Gayle sighed.

“It is the world we live in,” Solas said. “Were it a fairer one, I could think of nothing I would wish for more than to sweep you past their outraged faces. As it is…perhaps you would settle on a dance in front of some, not-so-easily scandalised, friends?”

“What?” Gayle asked, drawing her gaze from the dancers to Solas, confused. He slipped fluidly to his feet, holding out his hand, slender fingers curled in invitation. Gayle blinked at them.

“If you will do me the honour,” he added, and when Gayle’s hand slipped into his, Solas pressed a kiss on her wrist before he eased her up onto her feet. Solas led her into the middle of the floor, Gayle still wide-eyed and wondering if she was hallucinating from the terrible ale. The other dancers made space for them, glancing knowing smiles as they gave them room.

Solas stepped so close to Gayle, they were literally hip to hip, his hand drawing her left arm up around his neck, her right tangling with his other, pulled close and pressed between their chests. As he began to lead her, they didn’t draw any further apart. There wasn’t room for a prayer as her Nana would say. Solas’s feet moved and Gayle felt herself swept along after him. His breath was hot against her mouth. His eyes traced over the curves and dips of her face.

“What kind of dance is this?” Gayle whispered, heat crawling up to set a fire in her cheeks. It wasn’t a complicated one, the footwork was simple but salacious in its directness. His thighs brushed against her own, sometimes one was slipped between her legs. His arm was tight around her waist.

“One that is unlikely to be seen at any human ball,” Solas mused, bringing her fingers up to brush against his lips.

“Where did you learn it? If you say ‘in the Fade’, I swear I’ll smack you harder than Cassandra!” Gayle laughed, anticipating his standard response to near every question she asked in.

“Not _all_ of my experiences were gained in the Fade,” Solas snorted, eyes crinkled in amusement. “I have lived a life outside of dreams.”

“Well, you should tell your anecdotes that,” Gayle chuckled, then sighed, as Solas pressed his cheek to her own; turning - just so - to whisper hot in her ear.

“I will endeavour to do so,” Solas conceded, much too smug at the shiver that rippled down her. Gayle would have been annoyed at how easily he played her, if it wasn’t so thrilling and intoxicating in equal measure.

They continued to dance, even as the others slowly withdrew from the floor. They danced as Maryham’s music stopped, as the keg was drained and the bodies slipped quietly from the hall and into the night. And when the fire dimmed and the room was silent, Solas led Gayle up to her chambers and they danced again, bodies tangled, until dawn drew them down to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hardest part of writing this was coming up with names for the dances. I shit you not. It took forever!


End file.
